A pecking sound came at the kitchen window an hour after breakfast. It was the Sunday the Hogwarts students had to return to school, and most of them were scattered about the house, looking for lost gloves and deciding whether to pack extra jackets.

Harry heard the tapping at the glass first, and he immediately dropped his scarf on the dining table at the sight of the owl. With a serious expression, wide yellow eyes, and dark grey feathers ruffling in the wind, the deliverer's clawed foot held down the letter on the windowsill to keep it from blowing away. Harry hastily lifted the latch, the panes swinging inwards, and the owl swooped onto the top of the nearest chair, dropping the letter onto the table. Harry picked it up and read the address.

Minister Shacklebolt to Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy - Weasley Residence, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England.

"Malfoy!" Harry shouted urgently, and he soon heard rapid footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Open it, open it," Draco said insistently, and Harry slid the letter open. The owl screeched at them both, and Draco frowned, picked up a piece of half-eaten toast from their breakfast leftovers, and threw it at the bird. The owl caught the food in its beak with a reproachful look.

Harry held the letter up slightly so Draco could read it over his shoulder, and they both scanned it carefully.

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy,

(henceforth referred to as "[the] witnesses")

The Ministry greatly appreciates the information the witnesses gave regarding the evidence found at the residence 8 Twilight Way, Wiltshire, England. An investigation is currently ongoing at the residence. Evidence was found to be connected to previous encounters with the unknown Asian vigilante group.

Witnesses may be contacted at a later date to provide a detailed, verbal account of the evidence's discovery.

Sincerely,

Kingsley Shacklebolt

Minister for Magic

The message was brief, cursory, and apparently unsatisfactory, as Draco's expression grew disappointed as soon as he had finished. "That's it? No mention of Death Eaters, no questioning of how we even knew to check the house?" Draco said.

Harry folded the letter resolutely. "See, I told you. Kingsley will handle this fine."

"But say we give an account," Draco said worriedly. "My mother's letter is bound to come up somehow, and we've probably broken Ministry regulations reading it…"

"Since when have you cared about breaking the law?" Harry asked, but Draco only rolled his eyes and didn't deign to respond. "Anyway, this is out of our hands now. So you can stop worrying."

"I still want to talk to McGonagall," Draco said, nonetheless unsettled, "About my parents. We should go before school tomorrow morning before classes start."

"We?"

"You'll come with me, won't you?" Draco pressed. "If it's you asking as well, McGonagall will surely find out for us. She'd bend over backward for you."

Harry, who could not imagine the stiff headmistress bending in any direction for anyone, protested, "That's not even remotely true."

"Oh?" Draco eyed him skeptically and leaned closer, a bit intimidatingly. "Interesting that you think that."

Before Harry could figure out precisely what the Slytherin meant, a third person clearing their throat startled them both. Harry hadn't realized he had been staring into Draco's silver eyes, but he tore his gaze away to see Ron standing at the other end of the dining table. The redhead looked back and forth between the other two; Draco stood behind and to the right of Harry, the shorter young man instinctively leaning into the taller. Their faces, due to the quiet conversation, were closer together than usual. Realizing how intimate the scene might look to an outsider, Harry stepped away from the Slytherin.

"What's that?" Ron asked casually, nodding at the folded letter in Harry's hand.

"Nothing important," Harry replied, slipping it into his pocket. He wasn't entirely sure why he hid the letter from Ron straightaway - revealing to his best friend that he and Draco had been on a mini-adventure together seemed to be an occurrence Harry wanted to avoid. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," Ron said. He stared at Draco a bit confusedly, and the Slytherin shifted uncomfortably. "Mum says we're leaving for the station in about an hour. You packed yet?" He asked, addressing Harry.

"Nearly, just grabbing a few things," Harry said, holding up his scarf.

"I'm not packed," Draco mumbled, and he abruptly left the room, heading back upstairs.

The two best friends remained in the kitchen, Harry awkwardly bundling up his scarf and Ron standing with his hands in his pockets.

"Harry, is something…Going on between you and Malfoy?" Ron said slowly.

"Going on? What do you mean? We're just friends." Harry swallowed nervously. Yeah, right, "just friends," He scoffed inwardly. "Just friends" don't often have their tongues in each other's mouths.

"Yeah, I know," Ron shrugged, "But it's a bit weird that you both are getting on so well so fast."

"It's been months since we started trying to be friends."

"Yeah, I know," The other Gryffindor repeated, "But you were enemies for years, mate. Years and years of 'Malfoy's a slimy git', 'Malfoy's an entitled arse,' Malfoy this, Malfoy that. That kind of stuff doesn't just go away."

"There's a thin line between friendship and hate," Harry said lamely, but it sounded like making excuses even to him.

"The line's supposed to be between love and hate. But yeah, close enough…"

"What about you? Aren't you getting along with Malfoy?"

"More or less...To be honest, I only put up with him to humor you." That surprised Harry a bit, but he supposed it was fair. "Also, there's another thing that's weird about all this - he's a lot nicer now than he used to be, especially when you're around. Haven't you noticed?"

Overlooking a couple of romantic liaisons, Harry didn't notice much of a difference. When they were alone together, Draco let his guard down and show his emotions more. But on the surface, he seemed to be the exact same sardonic, snarky, and pragmatic boy he'd always been.

"Er…not really."

Ron's face held a strange mixture of confusion and disappointment. "Well, keep a lookout for it. Hey, that somehow reminds me," He said suddenly, brightening, "Quidditch will be starting up again soon. I think as long as you hammer Hufflepuff and they don't lose too badly to Slytherin, you'll be real shoo-ins for the Cup."

"Miss being Keeper, do you?" Harry grinned, relaxing at the familiar conversational territory.

"Sometimes," Ron admitted, "Though the new one's a real firecracker."

"Yeah, Quinn's very talented. Actually, she's a decent Beater, too, Ginny's convinced her to try out the position a few times in practice…"

They continued along in this vein up until it was time to leave the Burrow. Four students sported their Weasley-knitted sweaters - Draco, strangely tolerant of the cold, carried his - as they waved goodbye to Molly and Apparated to King's Cross, meeting Luna on the platform. They spent the journey in friendly conversation, but a tense atmosphere lingered in their compartment. With every out of place shake of the train, they flinched and watched the windows for anything amiss.

Even when they arrived safely at Hogwarts castle, Harry took one last look over his shoulder. The carved wolf mask loomed in his mind, and he couldn't help but wonder where the owner had gone. Irrational though it seemed, Harry still couldn't shake the feeling that the unknown eyes that had peered through the mask were watching his every move…

• • •

At the beginning of the new term, the inhabitants of Hogwarts stayed in bed for as long as they possibly could, their sleep schedules not yet adjusted from the activity-filled nights and late mornings of the holidays. As dawn broke rosily over the snow-covered hills, the corridors sheltered only a few early risers and professors preparing for the day. Down one of the castle's many hallways strode two eighth years, black school robes flapping in their wake.

"Do you know the password?" Draco asked as they rounded a corner; the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the headmaster's office came into view.

"I'm going to guess old ones and hope for the best," Harry said truthfully, "And if they don't work, we'll check the dining hall."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Brilliant plan."

"What, you've got a better idea?" But judging by the Slytherin's silence, he hadn't, and they soon found themselves standing in front of the resolutely protective gargoyle.

"Cockroach clusters," Harry tried, "Licorice snaps, chocolate frog…"

"Cauldron cakes," Draco said, catching on, "Peppermint imps, exploding bonbons…"

"Lemon drop?" Harry guessed hopefully, but the statue did not budge. Though he could have sworn, its expression became slightly more mocking than before. "Damn. I thought that one might-"

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy," Came a stern voice behind them, "Why on earth are you two shouting candy names at the guardian of my office?"

Standing firmly behind them, in velvety robes of forest green and a pointed black hat placed with perfect symmetry, was Professor McGonagall.

"Er…Sorry, Professor. I thought one might be the password. We wanted to talk to you as soon as possible," Harry explained.

"Apparently so. Well then," McGonagall walked up to the gargoyle and said, "Peruvian Vipertooth." The stone figure jumped aside immediately, revealing the curved stone staircase up to the head office. With a purposeful swish of robes, she walked up the stairs, her students following close behind.

The headmistress's office hadn't changed a great deal since Albus Dumbledore resided there. Many of the same silver instruments and magical gadgets stood on their appointed tables, with a few different ones added here and there. It warmed Harry slightly to see that Fawkes's perch hadn't been removed, though the phoenix itself had yet to make a reappearance at Hogwarts. In the corner, peculiarly, stood a cat's litterbox. The various portraits of past headmasters lined the back wall, the majority of them asleep. Harry felt a rush of melancholy as he spotted Dumbledore slumbering in his frame, right next to a picture of Severus Snape, whose face was frowning even in sleep.

"Now," McGonagall said as she stood behind her desk, "What important thing do you wish to tell me?"

Draco, hanging back, told Harry with his eyes to speak. "Professor, how strong are your ties to the Ministry?" The Gryffindor questioned.

Professor McGonagall arched her eyebrow. "Stronger than most non-Ministry individuals in Britain, I'd wager. Why do you ask?"

"You've heard of the attack on the Hogwarts train in December, then?"

McGonagall nodded in reply, then, sensing the seriousness of the following discussion, sat down at her desk and folded her hands.

"Stop me if I get something wrong," Harry told Draco. "During the holidays, Draco received a letter from Narcissa Malfoy…"

Trusting Professor McGonagall to keep any sensitive information secret, Harry didn't hold back in accounting what they had found at Malfoy Manor, as well as the contents and likely illegality of Narcissa's letter. Throughout the story, the headmistress's face went through a gradual metamorphosis of expressions, from disapproving, to shocked, to worried, and finally to resolved.

"I appreciate your trust in me to keep this confidential, Potter," She said once Harry had finished. "And rest assured, I will. But why tell me all this?"

"We have a favor to ask."

"I have a favor to ask," Draco cut in, and two pairs of eyes fell upon him immediately. "I want to see my parents," He said firmly, "But I'm not even supposed to know where they are. I was hoping you'd be able to pull some strings and allow me to visit them. Before they're… imprisoned in Azkaban." His voice broke ever so slightly, and he looked at the ceiling.

McGonagall regarded Draco as if seeing him in a new light; he may have been a former Death Eater, but right now, he was a student in need of assistance. And help would always be given at Hogwarts to those who asked for it.

"Rest assured, Malfoy," She said to him. "I will find out as soon as possible if you can see them. Consider the matter out of your hands for now."

Surprised, but nevertheless relieved, Draco respectfully inclined his head. "Thank you, Professor."

[Author's Note: The original amount of total House points needed for a mysterious "grand prize," as McGonagall specified in chapter 4, was 500,000. Upon closer calculation I realized that was way too freaking much. Please disregard that detail and change it to 4,000 points total.]